Deceit
by luna raya
Summary: Looks can be deceiving. Some marriages built on lies. Some relationships built on falsehoods. Scandal never looked so delicious.


**_Hi all. Well, I wasn't sure I was going to write anymore on here, but this little ditty came to mind and I decided to post it. I may make it a full-length story, maybe on here, maybe published, I'm not sure yet. But here is this one-shot. Hope you enjoy it._**

* * *

 **Her**

"Dinner reservations are for seven," he tells me as he slips his shoes off. Next goes his tie followed by his shirt then his slacks. His undershirt and boxer briefs follow as he moves through the bathroom to get into the shower. "I don't think traffic will be too bad if I make this quick."

I nod that I hear him and continue applying my makeup. I'm dressed in a lavender wrap sweater dress. He'd bought it for my birthday last year. I smiled and told him I loved it. The truth though is it's not my color. My skin is pale and this shade of lavender makes me feel like I'm being washed out. But he'd felt so proud of himself that I couldn't help but lie.

He asked that I wear it tonight.

I wanted to say the weather is too warm for a sweater dress, but the universe conspired against me and temperatures dropped enough that it's no longer an issue.

So I'm wrapped in lavender.

I slip my feet into my white peep-toe pumps and fluff out my hair one last time. I admire myself in the mirror, ignoring the lack of color I now seem to be sporting, despite my best effort to apply blush. I look good. At thirty-four, I have the body of a twenty-four year old with ample breasts and an ass that bounces when I walk. I'm not trying to sound conceited. As a print model, I'm meant to look good. My body is supposed to be a temple.

It's one of the reasons he married me.

Six years ago.

With nearly five hundred people, most of whom I still don't know to this day, in attendance.

But it was my looks that was the biggest draw. Working on the latest Dolce perfume ad, I was the model, he was the marketing exec on set to make sure everything went perfect. I was covered in nothing more than a sheet, pressed provocatively against my front while my backside was exposed. He didn't take his eyes off of me the entire time. And once the shoot was over, he told me we were going to have dinner.

I was never asked out. I wasn't given a choice.

At the time, it didn't bother me. He was an attractive man, powerful, and wanted to give me attention. In this industry, people are always demanding things of me. My time, my face, my exposure. They use me to get somewhere. But with him, I didn't see that. He has money. He was considered a very sought after bachelor so he certainly didn't need any help from me.

So I went to dinner with him.

One dinner turned into two, which turned into three and so on and so forth.

After our fifth date, I slept with him for the first time. I wanted to make sure he was serious about me before we went anywhere. I wouldn't be used. He seemed to have no problem with this.

After eight months of dating, he asked me to marry him.

I couldn't think of any reason why it would be a bad idea. He treated me well. Doted on me. Loved me. He was a good man. He still is. So I said yes.

It's been six years now.

Truthfully, looking over the course of our marriage, there isn't much I can find fault in. We travel. Dine in the finest restaurants. Attend plays and concerts. I've been in three movies as a result of him helping to expand my career.

However, one thing that is there is the fact that I am completely, irrevocably bored out of my mind.

I know that's a horrible thing to say. Especially since as I've said, I can find very little fault. But I can't help but feel like I'm trapped. Stuck in a situation I didn't think out completely before accepting. Or maybe it lies more in the fact that so many aspects of our life together are not exciting, despite the temperament he offered upon our first meeting.

Everything we do, I could do all on my own. I don't need a husband to do them with.

His domineering side, the one that commanded I go to dinner with him and then tried to woo me so furiously seems to have vanished. The only time it makes an appearance is in his job.

Long gone are the little notes, the flowers just because. Long gone is the desire to make love to my husband because he has grown stagnant.

Missionary without it being missionary.

Sure I get off, but my mind drifts more often than not anymore. And lately, that's the only way my orgasm is reached with him.

I fantasize about a man taking me, claiming me. I fantasize about a man overwhelming my senses, making me feel things I've never imagined. I thought at one time my husband could do that for me. He'd showed such promise. But as time has continued on, his level of comfort has grown to be complete.

I'd tried many things to spice up our sex life. Surprising him at work. He was too busy or there were too many people around and they needed to take him seriously. Attacking him in the car as we are driven to dinner. Our driver might lower the glass and notice. Touching him in a darkened theater. Why did he spend money on tickets when if I wanted to fool around we could have stayed home?

So I'm bored. Horribly, miserably bored in my marriage. But I'm finally doing something about it.

"Ready?" He presses a kiss to my cheek as we head to the car and I try to contain my sigh.

 **HIM**

I'm on my third Scotch by the time he walks in.

Thankfully I'm not drunk when I stand to greet him. He doesn't approve of my choice of career, thinks I play too much into the stereotype of a rock star, so the last thing I want is to get a disapproving look from him.

He's older than me by four minutes. You'd think it was four years though with the way he acts sometimes.

We one-arm hug, because though we are brothers, twins, we are not close. Not really at least.

"Good to see you again."

"You too."

I return to my seat as he takes his across from mine. As soon as we're seated, our waitress descends.

"Evening, gentleman." She proceeds to ask for our drink orders. I ignore the way he watches me, waiting to see what I order. When I request a sweet tea, I can see the shock on his face. But he doesn't comment, simply orders a water.

We sit in uncomfortable silence for several minutes. It's always like this and I don't understand it. Truthfully, we may have shared a womb, and growing up, an actual room, but we are not close. In fact, we are complete opposites. I play music for a living, stand on a stage and sing to thousands of people sometimes nightly who adore my voice, my looks and my songs. He on the other hand works in an office, keeps a strict schedule despite working in marketing which requires more flexibility than I think he's actually comfortable with.

He's rigid, I'm easy-going.

He enjoys the boring side of life, I thrive to live life to its fullest.

If not for the fact that today marks the eighth anniversary of our parents death from a plane crash, we'd probably wouldn't even be meeting tonight. It's not even about them anymore. We never discuss them. It's just for show. A way to pretend.

"So. How have you been?" I ask to avoid the continued awkward silence.

"Good. I'm managing a new account for an up and coming painter who is taking the art world by storm. It is looking to be a very profitable association." He is smiling and is obviously proud. It is something to be proud of and I am proud of him for it. "How about you?"

Unfortunately, his enthusiasm is not returned in his asking me. "I'm in the studio right now. Working on a new album that I'm looking to release early next year."

"Oh, well that's…good."

"Yeah, I'm excited about it. Going in a new direction for this one."

The air around us changes. It's not because of our discomfort with each other either. The hair on my arms tingles, and I feel my heart speed up. Looking toward the entrance, I notice her walk in. She's wearing a light purple wrap dress. While it is absolutely breathtaking on her, hugging her curves, emphasizing her gorgeous tits and amazing ass, it doesn't really work well with her coloring. Regardless, she's still stunning.

"Sorry about that. Some very eager fans out there."

She looks at the both of us. I'm confused first that he didn't tell me he was bringing her tonight since he usually doesn't bring anyone, and then even more so when he doesn't stand to pull out her chair. Our mother had raised us to be gentlemen, just sitting there, especially while letting his wife just stand there like the help is odd at best. So I stand and pull out her chair for her, kissing her cheek as I tell her hello.

She thanks me with a kiss to my cheek and a puzzled look toward her husband.

Our waitress returns with my tea and my brother's water. She's startled to find another guest seated. I realize how strange it is the fact my brother didn't mention her presence tonight, but also didn't bother to order her a drink as well.

I don't want to dwell on it though. Their marriage, their problem.

After ordering a glass of wine, she looks at me with a smile. "So, how have things been going? I hear you're writing new material."

While my brother has never appreciated my career, his wife absolutely loves it. Claims she's my biggest fan and loves that she has "insider" information. One of the world's most sought after supermodel's loves what I do. It's unfortunate her husband doesn't feel the same way. Though he has mentioned he's not the biggest fan of her career choice either. Even though it's how they met. Whatever.

"Yes, record company isn't too keen on the idea, and my agent thinks I might isolate some fans, but life is all about growth, right?"

"Absolutely!" she agrees with an easy smile. "I'm so thankful to be in an industry where style changes regularly. Much more fluid for me."

He doesn't really say much during our interaction. But I can see out of the corner of my eye that he does not like the relationship I have with his wife. I know how they met. I know his client was the one running the shoot she was doing. I know he put on a show to get her attention. But beyond that, I don't know what type of life they have. I do know though, that he doesn't like me to be so expressive around her, as though it might give her ideas to expand her horizons.

She'd been doing just fine before him so….

 **HER**

Dinner is awkward at best.

I'm not sure what his problem is tonight. Or all of a sudden, I should say. Before we'd left the house, and even in the limo ride here, he was talkative, attentive, himself.

I know he doesn't necessarily enjoy that I'm a model, despite it being how we met. I know this because some of my shoots are more risqué than the one he met me on. He doesn't like the idea of his wife exposing herself to the world. I understand this. But this is my job. I love what I do. He knew that when we met.

I also know he was frustrated when I was stopped by several fans as we entered the restaurant. I've always been known as being beautiful, and while that is something I enjoy, I also want people to know me as gracious and kind. If someone asks for an autograph or a picture with me, I never say no unless I absolutely have to.

Those are rare occasions.

He doesn't like that I do that though.

I wonder idly if it is a tantrum that led him to not only not order me a drink as he sat down at the table with his brother, but also to not pull out my chair for me. He's always been a gentleman, but sometimes he can be quite childish.

So I suppose there are some faults.

His brother and I enjoy light conversation about our careers, plans for the future. With his brother as musician and myself as a model, we know many of the same people. More than that though, we understand the demands of being in the spotlight, of being part of something beyond just the scope of our simple existence.

People have cried at the sight of us. Excitement, a sense of being overwhelmed; it's happened a few times for me, and I know it's happened several times for him. Especially by his female fans.

Dinner, though tense because of the strain of the brother's relationship, is pleasant enough. At least it is until his brother begins patting his suit jacket, a seemingly unconscious move that alerts my husband into forming a frown.

"What are you doing?"

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

His brother blushes, something I didn't think he knew how to do given his reputation. "Sorry. Was just checking for my cigarettes." I don't really want to wait around for a lecture from my husband about the health risks of smoking. I was a smoker in my early twenties. I thankfully did not do it enough to age me drastically, but as a former one, I tend to get rankled when my husband comments on it.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go powder my nose." I rise from my seat without anyone's help and head toward the back of the restaurant.

 **HIM**

We both watch her leave before he rounds on me.

"I thought you were trying to quit."

"I am. But trying doesn't mean stopped."

"Those things will give you cancer."

"I know this."

"They'll ruin your voice."

"You don't care about my career anyhow."

The moment is tense. There's no telling how long it will take someone to "powder their nose" and not wanting to be around my brother in his indignation, I excuse myself from the table. "I'm going to go have a cigarette. Save your lecture for another time. Today of all days, is not the day for it."

I head to the back and give a quick nod to the staff as I step into the alley outside the building. Most people would never be able to do what I just did, walk through a restaurant and out its back door without being questioned. When you're me though, things are different.

The moment I'm outside, I pull my nearly empty pack of cigarettes out of my jacket pocket. I light one quick but don't inhale. I had been telling the truth. I am trying to quit. It's a terrible habit I picked up on the road and have spent the past few months slowing eradicating. At this point, it's more of a security. Holding one, even if I just let it burn itself out.

I move to stand next to one of the dumpsters. I'm out of view of the door and the street. I know people saw me walk out here but at least there's the idea of privacy because no one would dare interrupt my time alone.

"Fancy seeing you here."

I look up, a slow smiling spreading across my face. She's gorgeous. Body to die for. Legs for days. Curves like nothing else. A wet dream come to life. "Indeed it is."

She steps closer to me, mindful to keep out of range of the smoke billowing from my drag. "How is your evening going?"

"It's gotten a lot better now," I tell her letting my free hand pull her close. We don't have a lot of time so I don't waste any slamming my mouth down onto hers. She tastes like expensive grapes and cream from her dinner. "Definitely much better."

As our tongues caress, I feel one of her hands slip down my front, palming me through my dress slacks. I can't help the moan that escapes me. Or the way I harden instantly. "You like that?" she teases with a nip to my chin. Even in her stilettoes I have a couple inches on her. But I love the way she's more eye level with me leaning against the wall.

"You know I do."

"Let's see what else you like." She backs away from me and before I can form a thought, my belt is undone and my fly open. She smiles deviously at me as she lowers to a squat before me, her lips wet from her gloss and the licks she keeps giving them. My dick is hard and proud as she pulls it from my boxers, leaking with want.

Her pink tongue pokes out to lick the tip, stealing away the precum. I groan low as it then moves to trail along the edges, as though I am the most delicious melting ice cream she's ever had. "Fuck," I whisper and then feel her warm mouth engulf my length.

Her eyes are on mine, filled with so much lust I nearly come just from her gaze. But then she grazes her teeth down my shaft and I feel my knees buckle. Most men do not want teeth anywhere near their cock, but those men have no idea how fucking good it can feel if the right woman does it.

"Shit baby, you are good at this," I gasp out as her head bobs. She's actually _too_ good at this. I am going to come fast if I don't at least slow her down. Though…hmm. As much as coming in her mouth is enticing, I have another idea. Slowing her movements, I lean over to pull her back up. "As good as that feels, I want to come inside you. Will you let me?"

Her eyes flash with uncertainty, but it's there and gone so quickly, I know I have my answer. I lean forward brushing my lips against hers as I palm her tits through her soft dress. Fuck does she feel good. While I continue to kiss her, I lift her dress up above her hips, noticing the barely there slip of purple covering her pussy.

Tossing my nearly gone cigarette toward a puddle, I switch places with her and then lower to a squat myself. Delicately I pull her tiny excuse for panties down her legs, letting them slip to one foot. Then I lean in and lick her good and long. She's wet already. "Mm, you're so wet, baby. Did sucking my cock do that to you?" I ask but don't give her time to answer as I lick her again, flicking her clit at the end. She shudders as I widen her legs for better access.

"Oh God," she whimpers and I smirk against her.

"I've had people call me that before. Never sounded better coming from your mouth though." Rising back to my feet, I turn her around, planting her hands flat against the side of the building. With the taste of her pussy coating my tongue, I grip my cock and rub it against her. She arches her back, jutting out her ass and giving me better access to her pussy.

I slip into her easily, she's so hot and wet. I can't help the deep full chest groan that leaves and I love the sound of her gasp as I fill her completely.

"Fuck," she breathes out.

"You feel so good." I start to thrust, starting slow and torturous, until I remember not only was I so close to coming before that I probably will any second, but that we don't have a lot of time out here. Someone is bound to look out of curiosity. My rhythm becomes quick, deliberate. "Oh fuck, baby. I'm gonna come in you so hard. You want me too? Huh? You want me to fill your pretty pussy with my come?"

"Fuck! Yes, please yes!" she cries and I smile.

"Yeah you do." I continue to thrust, my hands gripping her hips hard, realizing how many marks I'm leaving. "Tonight, when your husband wants to fuck you, are you gonna let him? Huh? Are you gonna let him taste you, taste _me_ inside you?" She moans at my words. "And when he slides inside you, finding you so wet and thinking it's from want of him, you'll know he's sliding through my come, through my desire. Will you let that happen? Huh?"

"Fuck, if you want me too," she tells me, her words stuttered as I increase my speed. I'm so close and with the way she's clenching I know she is too.

 **HER**

"I don't," he tells me before we both tense up, our orgasms hitting together sending chills throughout my entire body.

It takes a few moments before our breathing returns to normal and he removes himself from me. I'm still posed against the wall, trembling from the powerful climax he just gave me. As I stand up, I feel his warmth between my legs, beginning to leak. I hurry to pull my thong back on, catching our juices in the thin fabric.

Smoothing my dress back down my hips, I see him staring at me. "When we go back in there, I'm gonna know."

"Know what?"

"That you're full of me. That sitting in that chair, it's my come inside you." I blink at him and feel my arousal spike again. But he's not finished. "Knowing that when you leave with him tonight, when he takes you home and wants to be with you that it's me he's feeling. And never knowing about."

For the first time since we started these trysts a year ago, a flash of sadness crosses his face. "It won't be this way forever," I tell him and his eyes snap to mine in shock.

"What do you mean?"

"I filed for divorce last week. He just hasn't received the paperwork yet."

Inhaling sharply, he looks at me intently. "Why now?"

I shrug. "I'm bored. I know in the grand scheme of things it doesn't excuse my behavior. But I am. He doesn't satisfy me anymore. Maybe he never really did but he doted and the attention was enough to make up for it. I need excitement. He doesn't want to do anything that isn't set to a schedule."

"Why me?"

"Why not you?"

He laughs. We don't really have time to be having this discussion. "You could have picked anyone to cheat with. Why his twin brother?"

"Because you excite me. You understand the life I lead. And to be honest, in the time I've spent getting to know you, I know how good we really are together."

He steps forward, caging me in. "Will you let him have you tonight?"

As thrilling as the idea had sounded when he spoke of it while buried inside me, knowing that the man I'm married to was feeling the lust of another man is exciting, I wouldn't be able to do it. I may be a horrible person for my actions, but I'm not completely cruel.

"I wouldn't do that to you. I never have," I admit softly before his lips crash against mine. I taste myself on him and want him once more. But again, we don't have time.

"Me either. I haven't been with anyone else since we started," he admits and it's so quiet I wonder if he's embarrassed by that.

Pulling away, I smile up at him. "You go in first. He thinks I take forever in the bathroom anyhow so it's easier for me to lie."

With a nod he pulls back and begins to head back into the restaurant. Reaching the door though, he stops and looks at me. "Hey, Bella?"

"Yes, Edward?"

"I…I love you. I know this isn't the best time for me to tell you this, since I'm pretty sure we're about to create a pretty big shitstorm, but I needed you to know. In case…"

"In case what?"

"In case you change your mind."

It's interesting to see him like this. Unsure, quiet, questioning. The Eddie Masen the world knows him as is powerful, sexy, so sure of himself. But the Edward Cullen I know is sweet and perfect.

"I love you too. And I won't. Change my mind, I mean."

With a final nod, he walks back inside and I move to return as well. The wetness is pooling and I wonder idly how much of a mess I'm about to make on such an expensive piece of furniture at the table. Probably less than life is about to become.

 **Husband**

I watch them both walk away from the table, her to the restroom and him wherever he can smoke and pull out my phone. There's a text waiting for me.

 _Hey baby, I'm so sorry about what today is. Call me if you need anything xoxo!_

I smile as I push call.

"Hey baby," she says in a purr, making me cock twitch. "I didn't think you'd be calling tonight."

"She's in the bathroom and he's somewhere smoking." I make a face at that. I don't know why Edward took up the habit. And it doesn't matter how many times I tell him it's not a good one. But he never listens to me. "It could be a while."

"Oh. How are you doing?"

"I'm okay. May need to see you if after dealing with this dinner."

"Why?"

"They've spent the whole time talking about their careers. I always knew Isabella was a free spirit, but I thought that after she'd grow out of it. He's just putting ridiculous idea in her head."

"I'm sorry, Jasper."

"It's okay. I've got you."

"Yeah you do. You still coming to see me tomorrow at lunch?"

"Of course. I wouldn't miss my Alice time for anything." I smile at her giggle and my heart swells. "Isabella doesn't know about the divorce papers yet, but they should be delivered this week," I tell her and hear her swoony sigh. "Then we can stop this two year old secret and be together for real."

"I can't wait baby."

"Me either," I whisper. Then I notice him walking back to the table, looking a little rumpled. "Alice, I'll see you tomorrow." I hang up just before my brother returns to the table. He's got a smile on his face he did not have when he left. "What's put you in such a good mood?"

Isabella returns to the table just as he answers.

"The future."

* * *

Well, there you have it.

OOC for sure, but like I said, it may become full-length. Also I just wanted to let everyone know I do have a new book coming out that I'm self-publishing under the name **Delilah Frost**. The book is titled _**The Bitter**_ and is part one of two. Look for it on Amazon now for pre-order. Thanks!


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